


pan metron ariston

by athousandwinds



Category: Maurice - Forster
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:10:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandwinds/pseuds/athousandwinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer afternoons and irreconcilable differences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pan metron ariston

Some canards are inevitable from those only in the first year of their Tripos, and perhaps the most prevalent notion is that older and wiser students give a toss about the activities of their juniors. They don't.

This, in all fairness, did not hold true for Clive Durham, who listened to Maurice's recounting of his deeds with lively interest. That they were flat on their backs by the riverbank was beside the point, even if there _were_ not much else to listen to beside the burble of the stream and the twittering of birds.

Maurice broke off as Durham's attention drifted, and touched him on the arm. "Everything all right?" he enquired affectionately.

"Just quiet," Durham said, stretching a little and giving a slight groan as he did so. Maurice attempted to hide the spark of interest at the blissful expression on Durham's face.

Durham closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Maurice sat up and watched the even movements of his chest up and down, the soft breathing that denoted slumber. He was not certain Durham was awake, but he thought it likely, this had occurred before. Intrepid, he ran a finger down Durham's stomach.

Durham let out a slight sigh.

Maurice stroked his belly again before moving lower, circling the crotch of Durham's trousers with his thumb. He did not press hard, but the light touch did its work; Durham's cock, once quiescent, had twitched with awareness.

Maurice rubbed more roughly and Durham, who so liked to play-struggle, shifted beneath his forceful caress. His cock, fully-awakened, was stiff against the linen of his trousers; agitated, he moved against Maurice's palm. Maurice massaged it vigorously, enjoying the rapid, violent hitches in Durham's breath and the fluttering of his eyelids. Finally, Durham let out a whimper, and then a moan, which was victory on a scale not yet seen, and he jerked up into Maurice's hand, frantic for more. His fingers scrabbled in the dirt and Maurice squeezed him one last time before Durham cried out,

"Oh, _God_," to a figure in whom he did not believe, and his eyes were wide open as he emptied into Maurice's palm. They stared at each other, exhilarated; Maurice with triumph, Durham with horror.

His trousers were stained, Maurice noted, with a sense of joy. Durham, always so neat and spruce, had allowed him to ruin his best Sunday trousers.

His trousers were stained, Durham realised, and with it came the shamed knowledge that he had stained more than that. To lose such control was unconscionable, particularly with Hall, who was still a first year, and impressionable. Better to have left him alone, left him to his school pals and his sisters. One did not corrupt the youth of Athens.

The guilt stayed with him all the way home.


End file.
